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Chapter Text

Arthur Roeder only half-paid attention to Charlie Lee as he spoke, going on and on about the specifics and tiny details about the radium bibliography. His mind was elsewhere: the world that would be created once his book had been distributed amongst all the foremost medical professionals of the world. Yes, surely there would be medical breakthroughs and many patients benefiting from the work, but more importantly, it would put the U.S. Radium Corporation on the map.

Standard Chemical’s monthly journal could kiss his ass. With this bibliography and the associated press release, Arthur would take the medical market by storm, whether they liked it or not.

…That was, of course, if Charlie would stop talking and just publish the damn thing.

“Arthur. Arthur.” Charlie snapped his fingers to try and get his attention. “So? How do you think we should proceed with this?”

With a groan, Arthur leaned forwards in his chair once more, planting his hands firmly on his desk. “I think… we should do whatever is best for the company.” It was his go-to line whenever he wasn’t sure what one of his board members was talking about, and it had a near-perfect success rate of getting him out of actually listening to them.

Unfortunately, Charlie was the reason it wasn’t entirely foolproof—yet another one of the traits that got on his nerves. “How much of what I’ve said did you actually hear?” he asked, his voice deadpan as he set down the book on the desk.

“What are we proceeding with this time, Charlie?” Arthur asked. “Is it the cover? The publishing house? Or—God forbid—the delivery company?” He always tried to take Charlie seriously, but sometimes that man would just go on and on about the silliest things. It had been tolerable as students, and fine when they were closer (he was easier to shut up then), but as vice-president, Arthur just wished Charlie would get to the damn point.

Charlie stared at him, his expression humourless. “The last chapter. Radium—Dangerous Effects.” He flipped the pages of the book until he found the right page, then turned it around so Arthur could read it. “Almost twenty articles here, from as far back as…” All he could do was trail off, shaking his head. “Now I wouldn’t blame the people who put this together, but it sure doesn’t shed the best light on us, does it?”

Arthur shrugged, a bit uncomfortable. This wasn’t his responsibility, damnit. “If they want all the studies, they’ll get all the studies. Besides, aren’t we adding capsule reports to all of these? Call back the company, get them to write those bits in a way that won’t be an issue for us.”

“Arthur, I know what you would want me to do in terms of our promotional efforts,” said Charlie, irritated, “what I’m saying is you should read some of this. Perhaps we ought to add some safeguards for the workers.” With one hand, he held the side of the book, still on the desk, and flipped to another page, and with the other, he pointed at an article. “I suggest that we—”

BOOM. Arthur slammed the book shut with a resounding thud, cutting Charlie off with barely enough time to move to keep his hands from being crushed. Charlie clutched his hands near his chest in an almost protective manner, his breathing suddenly shaky. From the other side of the desk, Arthur glared at him, his hand pressed firmly down on the now-closed book. It was only when he noticed his vice-president’s trembling that Arthur realised he had maybe been a bit rude with that.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur forced himself to calm down. “Listen. Charlie. I don’t care about these nonsense reports. If they’d been worth any mention, Von Sochocky would have told us about them way back when. I’ve got more important things to do, but if you’re whining like a bitch about it, I’ll tell you exactly what to do, got it?”

Charlie was silent a moment before Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly rushed to say “Yes, yes I’ve got it. Just… tell me how to proceed.” His breathing was still somewhat shallow, but as he spoke, he began to regain his composure.

“Good.” Arthur picked up the bibliography and held it out to him. “You’re going to send this back to the company with revised capsule reports for any unseemly studies, making sure to highlight how not all reports are accurate. When you get the new copy back, you’ll check it through once more on your own, making sure it paints the U.S. Radium Corporation in a good light, and then send it out for mass production.”

“Of course. I’ll get right on that.” Fully settled once again, Charlie took the book from Arthur and tucked it under an arm as he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Arthur held his hand up as Charlie turned back again, confused. “I also want you to start supervising the training of all new hires in prominent positions. If you’re so worried about all this, then you can be on the ground level yourself, making sure they do everything right and to your standards, understand?” His eyes softened slightly. “I’ll have a list of candidates to help you understand all the major roles on your desk next week.”

At this, Charlie’s shoulders finally relaxed, his eyes brightening. He was lucky to be so enthusiastic, since God knows Arthur wouldn’t have bothered anyone else with something so small. “Thank you, Arthur. I’ll deal with it. You won’t have anything to worry about. I won’t bother you with it again.”

Arthur smiled as he leaned back in his chair once more. “You’d better not.”

Chapter Text

“Hazel Kuser.” Edward Markley finally looked away from the letter in his hands, turning to face Charlie, who’d been reading over his shoulder. “Any connection to the others?”

Charlie stepped back casually, as if pretending he hadn’t been standing oddly close to the other man for the past few minutes. “Only by virtue of employment.”

“Except,” Arthur said, a hint of irritation in his voice, “she’s got a good lawyer.” Some John Doe nobody attorney, sure, but his words were threatening enough to shake him to his core. This is why he paid these two—why was he supposed to deal with it?

Charlie scoffed. “Knows how to write a good letter anyway, that ‘lawyer’.” The scorn in his voice was clearly pointed, but Edward didn’t take the bait.

“And she no longer works here?” Edward asked, deftly ignoring Charlie’s tone as he gently placed the letter onto the desk. Arthur hesitated, glancing at Charlie.

Charlie’s gaze flitted back to Edward. “Left six months ago.” His voice was smooth, collected. Arthur wished he could be so confident about this situation, instead of feeling like his intestines had been tied in knots.

But he didn’t get his wish. “This makes four now.” Arthur couldn’t keep the grim tone out of his voice. Four. Four girls that came in healthy and left sick, and pointed their fingers at him. There were four… and counting.

“Three.”

Charlie’s interjection made Arthur snap his head up to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and he hadn’t even bothered to direct his gaze to Arthur before arguing with him.

“Four,” Arthur repeated, forceful, “if you count the Maggia girl.” Why Charlie always felt the need to argue with him, he hadn’t the damndest clue, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it lying down.

Charlie scrunched up his nose at that, finally deigning to meet Arthur’s gaze. “I… wouldn’t include her,” he said, a note of disdain in his voice.

What was he on about now? “She worked here,” said Arthur, now fully glaring at his business partner. He’d often wished for some way to get him to just shut it and agree with him, but one of the most irritating things about Charlie was his apparent need to contradict him.

Charlie just shrugged. “She also worked… other places. And what she died from—” a wry grin spread across his face “—you couldn’t pick up here. At least,” he said, his nose scrunching up again despite his smirk, “I don’t think you can.”

Oh. Yes. The syphilis rumours. Charlie had notified him of that chatter back when the Maggia girl first passed, nervous about turmoil among the dial painters (finally something productive coming out of his time around the rabble)—but most of it had died down as quickly as it came.

“That’s not funny, Charlie,” Arthur said, affixing him with a hard look. “Besides, that’s just idle talk.”

Charlie dropped his grin—it seemed he did somewhat know what was good for him. “In my experience… there’s usually something to the idle talk.” His brow furrowed momentarily, and he cleared his throat. “When it comes to girls like that.”

“From a large family, wasn’t she?” Edward asked. He’d been so quiet that Arthur had almost forgotten he was here too.

“Italians,” Charlie scoffed. “The conditions they live in! Ten, twelve people in three rooms—” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder they don’t all die of one infection or another.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. Charlie would criticise the very air he breathed if he was given the opportunity. During their university days, every single person in their dormitory received individual rants about how they and everyone they were related to were, in fact, the root of all evil.

A small smile appeared on Edward’s face—hopefully it was related more to the business implications than not; another hair-trigger madman would be far too much. “Three, then.” He glanced at Arthur. “And how many dead?”

“…Only Miss Maggia. But I haven’t heard from her people,” Arthur said. Right—only that one of them had been properly hurt after time as an employee. The others so far were just pointing fingers.

“It’s too late for them anyway,” said Edward, a strange but reassuring smile on his face. “The statute of limitations is two years. But Miss Kuser…” he picked the letter back up and tapped it gently on Arthur’s desk “…is another story. She’s in a position to make some trouble now.”

Arthur leaned forwards, head in his hands. “In all the time I’ve been here—” His voice caught for a moment, and he shook his head. “No-one has so much as slipped on the floor. And now this.”

Suddenly, there was a firm, solid pressure on his shoulders—not a burden, but reassurance. “We’re talking about four girls,” Charlie said, squeezing Arthur’s shoulders. “Out of… how many hundreds that we’ve employed?”

It was almost embarrassing how much that simple motion comforted Arthur. Back in school, Charlie had used it whenever they had any big assignments or exams to try and keep him on-task. What had he said, again? That he was “warming him up before the big game” (not that Charlie followed sports), “prepping the star player”? As ridiculous as it had seemed at first, it worked like a charm, making tension just melt away.

“Six, seven hundred,” Arthur admitted. “Over the years.” He pushed his shoulders back ever so slightly, and Charlie responded by massaging the tight knots in the musculature. Ah, there it was. The real reason he kept him around.

“And some of them were sick when they got here,” Charlie continued, still rubbing Arthur’s shoulders. “One girl you hired was a complete cripple—couldn’t even climb the stairs.” His hands fell still. “Her father carried her up to the studio every morning.”

Arthur turned around to face Charlie. “It didn’t make any difference to me how she got up the stairs—she was a fast worker, and a very sweet little girl.” Charlie himself had been the one to note all these things to him, why was he acting like this? Instead of listening to his own words, all he did was stare off into space and argue!

It took Charlie a moment to respond. “…But she was in poor health.” He stepped away from the desk and came around to the front, clenching his jaw and still not deigning to meet Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur stood up, daring Charlie to look at him. “She needed the work,” he said, more forceful than before.

“Arthur. Charlie.” In the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Edward take a step forward, as if to intervene—but this wasn’t his fight.

“And not just for the money.” Arthur stepped out from behind his desk. “To feel productive. To have a purpose.” He took another step, and at last, Charlie met his gaze. “That’s what work does, Charlie. It gives us a purpose. I don’t see any reason why we should stop hiring girls like that.”

Maybe he was being a bit curt with Charlie, but honestly, he didn’t know what else to do. If there was anyone who would understand this, it should be him—a passionate hard worker who, when they’d met, had been aimless and adrift without anything to work towards.

Charlie ducked his head. “When they get sick and try to blame us for it—you might want to reconsider that policy.” His eyes narrowed, as if glaring at the space between them.

Arthur collected himself (making sure he wouldn’t just make the other to agree with him by force), then stepped around Charlie, moving a few steps away. “Let’s see what Dr. Drinker has to say.” At that, Charlie let out a loud huff.

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Drinker?”

“Some professor at the Harvard School of Industrial Hygiene,” Charlie said, the contempt in his tone making his feelings on the whole business exceptionally clear. Not that it mattered. This wasn’t his company.

“He chairs the department,” Arthur said, turning back to Edward. “And he’s agreed to take a look at our operations.” It was just a look around—not a death sentence. Not even an official inquiry into their policies.

Charlie turned around, but instead of the sneer Arthur expected, his expression was severe—and a touch nervous. “Don’t you think we’re jumping the gun a bit, hiring him?”

“We’ve had six girls quit this week,” Arthur said. “And Mrs. MacNeil tells me there could be more.” 

Charlie shook his head. “Girls come and go all the time,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Did he really not understand the seriousness of their situation? Or was he just being purposefully obtuse?

“It’s never been like this,” Arthur said. “These girls are terrified. We’ve got to do something to calm them!”

At that, Charlie laughed—a strangled, choked laugh, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Letting Drinker examine them?! That sounds to me like a recipe for mass hysteria!”

Arthur’s heart stuttered. Wait, would the workers have to go in for examinations too? He’d thought that it was just going to be a look around the factory and such—but Charlie tended to be right about those sorts of things. It took a moment for him to respond again. “We’ll tell them it’s a routine physical. Edward?”

Edward nodded slowly. “Companies give physicals all the time.”

“Then Drinker will start next month,” said Arthur, giving Charlie’s frustrated expression a firm look of “we’re done talking about this”.

“In the meantime,” Edward mused, tracing a slender figure across the words of the letter, “I recommend we make an offer to Miss Kuser.”

Arthur moved back to his desk, sitting on the corner of it. “Settle?”

Charlie, who’d opened his mouth to protest before Edward interrupted him, frowned. “There’s no proof her problems are connected to us.”

In a flash, Edward was face-to-face with Charlie, his expression foreboding. “If she sues—” Edward shook his head “—believe me, you won’t like the publicity it brings.” He shot a glance at Arthur. “And neither will your investors.”

Charlie stumbled back. “You think this will affect the stock offering?” he asked. As if the stock prices weren't one of the things he was supposed to be monitoring! It had been one of the first things Arthur had been concerned with after the initial panic.

Edward raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

There was a moment of silence before Arthur spoke. “Wonderful. We’ll open at thirty, and close at ten.” Best to start by giving the people a larger sum to chew on to keep them from complaining, then only pay what they had to later.

Edward cocked a grin at him. “Or not open at all.” That self-assured smile sent a rush through Arthur; the confidence that just bordered on cockiness that his lawyer wore like a second skin was, as always, irresistible.

Too bad Charlie had to ruin it. “But if we give this girl something—” strangely, he sounded almost out of breath “—that would keep her quiet?”

After a moment, Edward turned back to face Charlie. “It would be a condition of the settlement.”

Charlie swallowed audibly. He turned to Arthur. “Maybe we better do it.”

But something suddenly caught in Arthur’s mind. “Suppose that lawyer has a racket going?” He stood up and began to pace the office. “He finds sick girls, and talks them into making suits…” With a shake of his head, Arthur turned back to Charlie. “Then we reward him for his larceny.” Imagine, some man preying on sickly young women for an easy buck… It made his blood boil.

“Unless…” Charlie pulled a pocketbook from inside his jacket and flipped through it, brows furrowed. “Miss Kuser genuinely believes she got sick here.”

Charlie wrote just about everything he thought in that little book, even when they were in school. How it hadn’t run out of pages yet was beyond Arthur, but it was convenient that he could snap his fingers and be given notes on almost everything at the drop of a hat. As such, it would make perfect sense if Arthur didn’t know what Charlie was looking at this time—except for the fact that he knew the man.

If Arthur knew Charlie (and know him he did), then the open page would be the one on the “safety measures” he’d worked on to (somewhat) improve working conditions at the plant. It was one of the things Charlie lingered on the most (an irritating habit, considering that Arthur had given him the responsibility just to keep him from whining), but for once, maybe it could help.

“It could be like Charlie said.” Edward’s voice knocked Arthur (as well as Charlie, if his expression was any indication) back to the present. “She comes from a large, immigrant family. Not well educated. Not a lot of resources…” He was smiling again, a certain glint in his eyes. 

Charlie’s response came slowly as he closed his pocketbook. “A few hundred dollars would make a big difference to a girl like that…” He sat himself on the corner of the desk nearest the chair and pulled a chequebook out from one of the drawers.

“Certainly,” said Edward. “Pay a few doctor’s bills. Buy some medicine.” He chuckled as he tossed the letter back onto the desk. “From the sound of that letter, I don’t think the girl has long to live anyway.”

Arthur nodded. “So it would be a gesture of decency, then.” A small smile was beginning to appear on his face as well.

“Exactly,” said Edward.

Arthur walked back to his desk and sat down, taking the chequebook and pen Charlie held out to him from the side. He uncapped the pen, and tested the nib on Charlie’s still-waiting hand, leaving a line of dark ink on his index finger. Smiling, Arthur looked up at Edward. “What do you think we should offer?”

Chapter Text

Arthur entered his office with a sealed envelope, a cup of coffee, and a triumphant expression. Sitting down, he took only a sip before opening the letter and beginning to read the first page:

To: Mr. Arthur Roeder, U.S. Radium Corporation. From: Cecil Drinker, Harvard University. Enclosed is our report.

Arthur grinned. “Finally!” He’d been waiting for what felt like eons for this report, and now, he was going to clear his name once and for all.

We believe the trouble in your plant is due to the radium.

Arthur’s heart stopped cold. “...Radium?” He shook his head, frustration and disbelief colouring his tone. “This can’t be…”

The blood changes in your employees can be explained on no other grounds. Photographic films carried by employees show heavy fogging and we suspect high levels of gamma radiation throughout the plant. We understand no proof can be offered at present.

He barked out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. “This is impossible!”

But in view of the material in the literature…

“It’s a mistake,” Arthur said, his tone harsh, as if trying to convince the very letter he held—or perhaps just trying to convince himself.

…and the facts disclosed by our investigation. We recommend immediate—and drastic—remedial action.

His pulse pounded in his head, suddenly dizzy. The letter was a blur for a moment, and he flipped through the pages to a summary of the report and scanned the words desperately.

Radium is doubtlessly the cause of the issues…

…a sort of necrosis of the tissue has been caused by prolonged radium exposure…

…high levels of detected radiation poisoning…

…rapid onset necrosis…

“CHARLIE!” 

Arthur knew he’d shouted the name, but he could barely hear it over the rush of blood in his ears.

He shook himself and turned the page.

“He has to be wrong,” he muttered, eyes darting across the page, “that’s all.” The papers creased in his fist. “He’s wrong…”

Charlie entered in a rush, breathing heavily. He stood before the desk, poised and ready, despite the heaving of his breast. His saviour.

“Charlie.” Eyes desperate, Arthur held out the report, his outstretched hand shaking. “He has to be wrong.”

Upon taking the report in hand, it took only a moment for Charlie to flip to the start and scan the contents of the letter. “He must have overlooked something,” he said, his face pale.

“If we’re suffering from a new ailment caused by the radium,” said Arthur, gesturing somewhat wildly as he spoke, “it should occur generally throughout the plant!”

Charlie nodded as he continued to flip through the report, brows furrowed and panic in his eyes. “One would expect.”

Arthur held up his fingers as he spoke, trying to make the numbers work in his head. “Several hundred milligrams are in solution at all times in the big vats, several hundred milligrams in the ore, several hundred in crystallising—”

“The entire back yard is filled with tailings!” Charlie added.

“Radium is present in good amounts all over the property,” said Arthur, his heart still pounding.

Charlie tapped at one of the pages and showed it to Arthur: it was a comparative summary of the average employees’ ailments, organised by position. “If it’s the radium, then the incidence of illness should be highest in the laboratory!” But the data on the page made no sense—why would the dial painters, who never even handle the raw materials, be the most afflicted?

“And no-one there is sick.” Arthur ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. It just didn’t make sense.

“Then…” Charlie swallowed dryly. “…perhaps it’s some combination of the radium with the zinc.” But wasn’t that part of the standard formula for neutralising it?

“Or something peculiar to our plant alone,” Arthur said. He could feel his hands clenching into fists as he spoke (a habit for which Charlie had long expressed displeasure), but he was too preoccupied to think about something so small.

Charlie nodded slowly. “Some kind of… bacteria, perhaps?” he suggested. “In the brushes?” And once again, he began flipping through the pages of the report again, pacing away shakily.

Arthur lowered his head, staring down at his desk. Traces of radium dust had worn into the scratches in the wooden surface, glowing faintly like far-off stars. “It can’t be the radium. There are dozens of application plants across the country. And none has ever reported anything like this.” Because Charlie only ever brought him information that he thought was important to know. And in light of the report, this was clearly important to know.

Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps from Charlie’s pacing stopped, and for a moment, all was silent aside from the muffled noises of workhouse machinery. Slowly, the steps approached, and went quiet once again, right in front of his desk.

Charlie dropped the report onto the desk. “The Department of Labor wants to see the report.” His tone was low and grim, and it sent shivers down Arthur’s spine.

Or rather, it would have, had a wave of cold resolve not washed over him as a plan sparked to life in his mind. “Yes, I’m aware,” Arthur said as he straightened, his voice eerily calm.

Charlie took a step back, eyes wide with fear as he stared at Arthur. “What are we going to do?” he said, gesturing wildly, hands shaking. “This tears us to pieces. How do we answer them?!” A sob was building up in his chest as he spoke, his voice growing more desperate, and his control more strained.

“They want to see the report.” Arthur picked it up, and flipped through until he arrived at the summary and recommendations section, and scanned the pages briefly before tearing the last one out. He held the single page out to Charlie. “We’ll send them this.”

It didn’t even look like Charlie was breathing, just frozen in space. “One page?”

“The most important page,” Arthur said, looking directly at Charlie, hand and page still outstretched. Charlie stared at Arthur, then at the paper, then back up to Arthur again, his expression lost and scared.

Then, realisation flickered in his eyes—but the fear remained, the page still held out between them. “…Drinker will never stand for this.”

“Drinker works for us. This is a proprietary report,” Arthur said, his voice and gaze firm. “What we do with it is our business.”

“But the Department of Labor, Arthur—” The sob began to build again, Charlie’s voice becoming more panicked, but he couldn’t look away from Arthur, from that cool purpose, and those bright eyes.

Arthur shook his head. “We just need more time, Charlie,” he said. “Just a little time.”

Charlie was on the breaking point, wide eyes beginning to shine. “They could shut us down for this—”

“Scientists! Government men!” Suddenly Arthur was on his feet, gesturing wildly with the paper clenched in a fist, the heat of rage replacing his cold determination. Charlie backed away, eyes wide with fear. “They have no idea what it takes to run a business!” He knew that he was probably spitting, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Von Sochocky thought ‘advertising’ was a dirty word. He laughed at the very idea of promotion.” Arthur shook his head, his voice becoming little more than a growl. “I can’t tell you how many times I walked into that man’s office and he turned a deaf ear to everything I told him.”

Charlie took another step back and glanced at the door, ready to make a run for it.

“But Charlie, we showed him.” Arthur had to take a moment to breathe, and Charlie looked back at him, frozen. “We showed him! Look at us. We are the world’s largest single supplier of radium. The largest in the world.” He jabbed a finger towards Charlie, and it shook with fury. “You know what it took for us to get here! Do you think I am going to stand idly by and let our good name be dragged through the mud?!”

Charlie was still frozen, but a certain light had joined the fear in his eyes. Arthur breathed heavily, and forced himself to lower his hands, but his gaze still burned as he stared at his vice-president, his friend, his confidant, his…

Arthur released his tight grip on the page, which was now crumpled from his fist, and held it out to the man standing before him. “Trust me, Charlie,” he said, his voice barely audible above the pounding in his chest.

Charlie took a step back towards him, a strange, almost trance-like look in his eyes. For a moment, his sights caught on the page, but in an instant, it was gone, once again meeting Arthur’s eyes and reflecting back their intensity. He walked forwards, unblinking, and took the page into his hands. And then… he left.

Arthur collapsed into his chair, letting out a breath that he felt like he’d been holding for hours. The burning, pounding sensations deep inside rolled like stormclouds in his core. Charlie’s look as their hands met when he took the page consumed his mind, a slave to the image in his head.

And he breathed.

Final statements:

Radium is doubtlessly the cause of the issues found at the plant, with those in high levels of unprotected contact with the paint and raw mineral being those with the highest levels of damage and infection.

It is certain that a sort of necrosis of the tissue has been caused by prolonged radium exposure, especially when examining the bodies of deceased and hospitalized employees. Upon testing of the site and the workers, examiners also find high levels of detected radiation poisoning.

In particular, the jaws of the dial-painters are found to have significant rapid onset necrosis, with black pus found within the bones of both live and deceased subjects. There is no biological explanation for the area of concentration and it is likely based primarily if not solely on workplace practices of those in their specific role.

The dial-painters are the first and foremost priority and concern of all examiners, and immediate action is heavily advised for the sake of their health and well-being.

Those employed in all other positions do not need any urgency in their handling, but they should be monitored more closely in order to retain their wellness and prevent any further damage.

Page 1

It is doubtless that the majority of the workers have no significant effect from any known dangerous substances in the plant, as the workplace is frequently sanitized, and as per the examination of Miss Amaya Young of the local inspection offices, no other toxic substances are found anywhere on site.

The results found in their investigation are generally positive and should not be a topic of high, if any, concern.

Report verified by:

Cecil Drinker
Ph.D., Industrial Hygiene
Harvard University

Page 2

Chapter Text

Arthur stormed into his office, his face feeling flushed and warm with what was surely frustration. Following behind and shutting the door behind them was Edward, a set of x-rays in his arms.

“Why does he always have to make things so difficult?” Arthur muttered through gritted teeth as he began pacing around the room. “Can’t he just listen for once?”

Edward put the x-rays down on the desk, and began to rifle through a nearby file cabinet. “Arthur, you do realise that it was almost exclusively Mr. Norten that you were clashing with?” He made a satisfied hum as he pulled whatever paper he’d been searching for out from the cabinet, and settled down at a chair in front of the desk.

Arthur turned to give Edward a sharp glare (which went wholly ignored) before returning to his pacing. “All the more reason for him to side with me.”

“Isn’t it Charlie’s job to offer different perspectives on matters? I seem to recall him doing just that,” Edward said, glancing up from his paper. “Don’t make this into more of an issue than it needs to be.” He picked up a pen. “Would you consider x-rays to fall better into the category of documentary evidence or direct evidence?”

“Why is that relevant?” Arthur shook his head. “This is about—”

Edward lifted up the paper—a legal form of some sort. “I need to specify when I request postponement for the trial. That dentist was called Joseph Knef, yes?”

“Dr. Joseph Knef.”

Edward didn’t bat an eye as he began to fill out the form. “Yes, of course.”

Knock, knock. A rapping at the door made Arthur stop in his tracks. Through the cracks in the window’s blinds, a familiar silhouette stood outside the office. After a quick look at Edward (who was too busy filling out the form to care), Arthur opened the door to let Charlie in.

“I’ve spoken with Norten about his behaviour,” he said as soon as he stepped through the door. Arthur closed it behind him, watching. “I did my best to make it clear that such blatant antagonising will not be accepted, and—”

“Why did you argue with me?” Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, standing firmly in front of the door.

Charlie paused, and turned to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t arguing, I was providing information that Norten neglected to mention. I don’t want you pushed around just by the board’s fearmongering,” he said.

“So you instead tried to push me around with fearmongering of your own.” Arthur’s gaze narrowed, and he could feel tension setting in his shoulders.

“Not everything that you don’t like to hear about is ‘fearmongering’, Arthur. And honestly, some of those points are completely fair,” said Charlie. “What were you on about, ‘it’s not moral’?”

“You were shaking your head at Dr. Knef’s proposal too!”

“Yes, because of the price! I’m sorry if I try to think about our finances in these matters instead of dragging my feet about dishonest dentists!”

Arthur refused to deign that melodrama with a response, and so he and Charlie simply glared at each other for an uncomfortably long moment.

“Charlie. Arthur.” Edward finally looked back up from his writing, his expression decidedly unamused. “None of this matters. The facts are that we will not be paying that extortionist’s bills, and that we are owed a postponement due to what we have discovered. This is something that you can both agree on.”

Sullen expression notwithstanding, Charlie’s eyes softened, and the argumentative set of his shoulders loosened. “…Right.”

“Good. Now, how about the two of you discuss something more productive while I finish what I’m doing?” Without waiting for an answer, Edward turned back to his paper and began writing once again.

It took a moment for either of them to speak again. “I want you to push Mr. Norten out of the head seat of the board,” Arthur said. “Give the role to Mr. Konrad, but make sure he understands why his predecessor was replaced. I won’t be tolerating any more pushback from board members who aren’t part of the core circle, and very little from those who are.”

Charlie frowned, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure about Konrad? He has a tendency to change his opinions easily, perhaps Ottoman would be a better fit—”

“Do you think that you aren’t included in this?” Arthur’s interruption caused Charlie to stare, unsure. “I don’t want any needless contention from you either. Just do what I tell you. Got it?”

Anger flashed for a moment in Charlie’s eyes, but it was quickly smothered by a more placid expression, though his eyes stayed narrowed. “Yes. Right away… Mr. Roeder.”

And with that, he left, closing the door behind him, leaving the room silent save for the scratch of pen on paper and Arthur’s breaths.

Chapter Text

Arthur was quiet as he sat. He'd become more solitary, more still, over the last while, but never more so than now, as he stared down at the initials of the girl who’d destroyed everything.

The dial-painting studio was empty at night, when the girls all went home, as well as the labourers that created the plant’s ever-present background noise, leaving only Arthur alone with his thoughts. He was free to watch the glowing smears of errant paint along the rows upon rows of tables twinkle in his mind’s eye like dying stars. But it wasn’t those stars themselves that died in this room, was it?

Arthur leaned forwards, jostling the surface of the table at which he sat and dislodging a fine-tipped paintbrush from some crevice in the wood. It was still wet. Slowly, he picked up the brush.

How did it go again? They’d have the watch face in one hand, paintbrush in the other, and in order to make the point appropriately thin, they put the tip to their mouths and…

It tasted like chemicals.

But there was no time to ponder this as one of the back doors swung open with a metallic groan. Arthur dropped the brush like it was scalding.

From a corner behind Arthur, quick footsteps began to make their way to the main doors, before slowing—then stopping—a table away from him.

“…Arthur…?”

Silently, Arthur turned to look at Charlie and his unsure expression. His suit jacket hung folded over his arm, revealing the full extent of the slimming vest he wore beneath, while his other hand was frozen in the middle of loosening his tie. But as youthful as he seemed under the dim light of the radium, even the darkness of the studio couldn’t hide the frown lines carved into his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Ah.” Arthur nodded at him, making no attempt to explain his presence or to fake a smile. “Charlie.”

Charlie took a few more steps towards him, brow furrowing. “…Aren’t you headed home?” He was right—Arthur had places to be, a wife and daughter waiting for him at home, and there was nothing keeping him here.

Nothing physical, anyway. “Charlie. I’ve been thinking it over. I think we’re taking the wrong approach here.” Arthur watched Charlie’s expression shift slightly, but it wasn’t clear enough to give anything away, so he continued to speak. “I think we should settle this case. We’ve got to make a reasonable offer to those girls.”

At that, Charlie rolled his eyes, annoyed. “No, Arthur. We agreed. We need a definitive victory. Otherwise we invite more of the same nonsense,” he said, as if talking to a small child—as if Arthur didn’t remember the million times they’d had this very discussion, when he was shut down again and again.

But… “Things have changed,” Arthur said as he looked away, his tone darker than intended (though perhaps that was fitting). First Dan Lehman, his own brother-in-law who he’d helped get a job at the plant, died from the same sort of poisoning as those girls. And the way Charlie’d told them, concerned more about the press than about the death… Diane had clutched onto Arthur tightly in bed that night. Now, Von Sochocky, his mentor…

From the quiet exhale, Arthur figured that Charlie understood some of what he meant. “Arthur.” There was a moment of silence. He put his jacket down on the table, next to the paintbrush. “I know you and Dan were close… But you can’t let that cloud your judgement.”

There it was again: that secret anger, that barely concealed loathing Arthur knew Charlie had grown to feel towards him, made perfectly clear through tightly spoken words said through gritted teeth.

But Charlie knew nothing. “Von Sochocky is going to testify,” Arthur said. He didn’t need to specify “against us”—no-one would speak out on their side anymore.

“We can deal with him.” Charlie’s response came quickly and calmly, completely unflapped by the revelation it should have been. How could he have known? Was he some puppet master, pulling the strings, manipulating Arthur and planning his downfall from his right hand? There was no other reason he would have stuck around this long.

“How?” Arthur asked, though he was sure he wouldn’t like the answer.

“Put more money in his pocket.” It was exactly the response Arthur had expected, but it still seemed surreal hearing it from Charlie’s mouth. They’d known each other for so long—when did he become…?

Arthur turned to Charlie. “So now you want to bribe him?” he said, leaning away. 

“Not a bribe,” Charlie said, holding his hands up in a sort of false surrender, before spreading them with a smile, as if trying to mime goodwill. “Consideration.”

“Consideration,” Arthur repeated, eyes narrowed and tone flat.

Charlie nodded, smile widening. “For an expert witness. Whatever Berry is paying him—” he gestured vaguely “—we’ll just make a better offer.”

The studio was silent for a moment. Then: “You don’t understand guilt, do you, Charlie?” Arthur stared into his eyes with a kind of horror, waiting for some softness to appear, some sort of yield in the other’s gaze.

It didn’t come.

If anything, Charlie’s expression grew tighter as he flinched away from Arthur, a strange fury beginning to shine in his eyes. His fists were clenched. He took a small step forwards, and Arthur tensed, recognising his very own tells, and readied himself for a punch…

…that didn’t come. Instead, Charlie turned away sharply, straightening as he did. “Right now…” His voice and back both trembled as he spoke. “…I don’t have the luxury of thinking about it,” he said, almost spitting out the words.

…Fine. If Charlie didn’t get it on his own… Arthur would just have to force him to.

“Let me tell you something, Charlie.” Arthur stood up as Charlie took a few steps away with an exasperated, disbelieving laugh. As if he wasn’t even worth looking at while they spoke. “A guilty man—” his voice caught, as if even his vocal cords blamed him too “—has a tremendous need to unburden himself. His guilt can eat him alive.” He would know, after all: he could feel it gnawing on his insides even as he spoke.

Still, Charlie refused to face him, moving even further away, as if mocking him. It drove Arthur mad.

“Don’t you see?! What Von Sochocky wants is to be free,” Arthur said, his volume rising alongside his desperation. He couldn’t tell if he was talking about the doctor or himself anymore—either way, he couldn’t stop. “That is why he is testifying for the girls. That is why he will never testify for us. No matter how much ‘consideration’ you offer.” 

At that, Charlie turned sharply to face him, eyes flashing with fury. “Settle with these girls and you’ll have to settle with all the others,” he spat, jabbing an angry finger at Arthur. “Knef was right about that. This is just the beginning.”

Arthur glowered at Charlie for a long moment, then looked down at his hands. When had they become fists…? He shook the thought from his head as he sat down. “…Get Markley to get in touch with Berry. Get a conversation going. Come up with a figure the girls can accept.”

“Arthur,” came Charlie’s voice, more of a growl than human speech, “for God’s sake! What are you trying to do to me?!” Arthur could hear a sob building up in Charlie’s chest, that manipulative bastard. “You want to wipe me out?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Arthur’s knuckles were white from how tightly he clenched his fists. He wouldn’t be pushed around by that charming devil on his shoulder again. "We've got to get this off the table,” he snapped, standing up again.

“Every penny.” Charlie’s anger was palpable as he yelled and wept. “Every penny I’ve put by in the last seven years, I have sunk into this company. Why? Because of you.” He was fully sobbing now, and Arthur couldn’t turn away from the burning, accusatory look in his eyes as they desperately searched his own, again and again and again, as if Charlie was looking for something inside him that just… wasn’t there.

Charlie was moving forwards now, shaky step by shaky step, staring at him with an accusatory and tearful gaze that felt nearly alien. “Because you said it was a sure thing. No miss—” his face screwed up into a disturbed facsimile of a smile “—’Why work for Von Sochocky when we can work for ourselves?’ Remember that one?! ‘Take a chance, Charlie. Take a chance!’”

“Charlie.” It took everything Arthur had to not break down—start sobbing, screaming, or swinging—but he could feel he was on the verge of all three, held up only by legs that seemed ready to give way at any moment. “We were fooled. Von Sochocky fooled us all.” Charlie stood so close now, desperation, disbelief, and what could only be pure hatred all viciously apparent in his twisted expression. “The only thing to do now is to try and clean it up as best we can.” Arthur shoved Charlie’s jacket into his arms, stopping him from unconsciously moving any closer.

Charlie clutched onto the jacket as a lifeline, staring at Arthur like he could no longer recognize him. After a long moment, he finally turned away, taking a few shaky steps into the dark studio as he put his jacket on once again, dressing for his duties even after the workday was done. “Do this,” he said, pausing only to swallow audibly, “and it’s the end, Arthur.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You’re stepping down, Charlie?”

Even from behind in the darkness, Arthur could recognize the specific tilt of Charlie’s neck as he tightened his tie. He’d seen it countless times before—evenings before they headed home, afternoons as he insisted (again) that men ought to touch up on themselves during the day like women do, mornings before they left to begin their days, mornings in a shared room after evenings in a bed after afternoons spent hidden away, when the world seemed so very small, made only for the feeling of another’s warm skin against their own…

“Not me.”

Arthur’s skin went cold. It seemed those times were long gone. “Well.”

Charlie turned back to face him, his gaze intense and piercing despite the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. “Don’t you know?” he asked as he stepped closer, tone darker than the studio in which they stood. “They are one vote away from getting rid of you.” The heaving of his chest had begun to slow, but his hand still trembled as he held up a single, solitary finger.

Arthur lifted his chin slightly, as if looking down on the man he once thought he knew. “And whose vote is that, Charlie?” he asked, his voice quiet and cold.

Charlie smiled at him, but his expression held no real warmth, as if it was only a memory of the motion, the lifting of lips with unsettlingly dark eyes. “Arthur.” He moved towards him, movements almost predatory, until there was less than a foot of space between them. “Have you—” in a flash, Charlie grabbed onto Arthur’s tie and pulled him in, close enough that their noses could almost touch “—so little faith in me?”

Arthur jerked away from Charlie immediately, eyes widening, away from his twisted expression and the warmth of his breath on his skin. “I’m still a stockholder, Charlie. You don’t have enough votes to get me off the board. I’ll still be on the board,” he said, almost falling over himself to get away, heart pounding in his chest.

For a moment, Charlie chuckled to himself, his eyes closed and his fist held tightly shut in the space where Arthur had only just been. Then, his eyes snapped open, and his now-hysterical grin only grew. “And still—” he stepped forwards to jab his finger against Arthur’s chest “—on the hook if this company goes under.” After a breath, still pressing his finger against Arthur’s chest, Charlie’s smile slowly faded, leaving only a narrow-eyed darkness in its wake. “Think about that the next time your conscience starts to bother you.”

Neither of them moved for a long moment, as if both holding their breath, waiting for the other to make a move. But when Arthur remained frozen in place, Charlie’s face screwed up in anger, eyes glistening, and he shoved him away before storming past him and walking away.

Despite the ringing in his ears, Arthur could still hear the tap of Charlie’s steps growing quieter alongside shaky sniffling breaths that could only be his own (even if it still felt like he was holding his breath), and a loud slam as Charlie closed the exit door behind him when he left.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that the misery that kept Arthur up at night belonged to someone other than himself, but then again, Charlie had been the exception to so many rules of his throughout their lives.

They were in Arthur’s backyard (they had been making too much of a scene at the front step, but God knows they weren’t going to do this inside, despite the late autumnal chill), illuminated only by the light seeping out from nearby windows, Charlie’s watch (though that provided very little light outside of itself), and the paint smears on an old, worn, and likely empty flask that glowed in his hand. Arthur stood on the porch in front of his backdoor, waiting silently for Charlie to collect himself—or at least to regulate his breathing enough to speak properly. But for now, all he could seem to manage was hyperventilating and blubbering incomprehensibly, his entire body shaking violently. It was almost grotesque.

“Ar-Arthur…” Charlie finally managed to rasp as he forced his heaving breaths to calm. “You need to… c-come back.”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going back, Charlie,” he responded coldly. “You’re the man in charge of it all at last. I wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

“The… the company n-needs you,” said Charlie, his scratchy voice desperate. “I need you.” He shook his head, but stopped almost immediately, groaning and holding his head in pain. “Please. There’s… there’s a board meeting tomorrow to discuss your future replacement, and—”

“Congratulations, then. I’m sure it’s just a formality,” Arthur said, cutting Charlie off mid-sentence, “but either way, you’ll finally officially move into my slot.”

“W-we can get them back on your side. Even if you can’t go back to how it was. Even if you’re just on the board.” Charlie, hand trembling, reached out to Arthur. “Just as long as you’re—”

“I’M NOT GOING BACK.” Arthur’s booming voice made Charlie stop abruptly and flinch back violently, dirtying his crumpled suit even more as he fell down into the dead grass and gripping his head with his free hand. Neither spoke for a long moment: Arthur breathing heavily, Charlie blubbering between gasps on the ground. “I’m done with the company, I’m done with radium, and more importantly, I’m done with you.”

“I’ll do all the work, take all the blame…” Charlie pleaded, but still he cowered away on the ground. “Just… just as long as you’re there too… as long as we’re both there—”

“Don’t you get it?” Arthur demanded, shocking Charlie out of his pleas. Slowly, he stepped down off the porch, his eyes ablaze as he stared Charlie down. “I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Do you understand that? Did I get that through your thick skull?”

Charlie looked up at him, fear joining the tears swimming in his eyes. “…Why do you hate me so much?” he asked, his voice small, afraid… pathetic.

“Why do I hate you…?” It was all Arthur could do to keep himself from laughing hysterically at the question, but he couldn’t hold back a sardonic smile. “Well, let’s see, why does a Catholic hate the devil? Why do those girls hate radium? Why did Adam hate Eve?”

At the last one, a certain light glimmered in Charlie’s eyes. What was he…?

Oh.

…Arthur would have to crush that light.

“You latched onto me and dragged me down, acting like it was my doing. You tricked me, manipulated me, used me as a puppet in all those awful things we did. And you think that I’m just going to waltz right back into your trap…?” Charlie tried to stand, but Arthur kicked him back down before he had the chance, leaving a dirty footprint on the front of his jacket. “God, you’re even more stupid than I thought.”

Any semblance of dignity had long abandoned Charlie by then, leaving him sobbing on the ground, his normally crisp, clean suit now covered with dirt, dry grass, and tears. “I’m— I’m sorry, Arthur!” he wept, beginning to reach a hand out to grab at the leg of Arthur’s pants before instinctively flinching back as his leg drew back, threatening another kick. “I didn’t m-mean— I never wanted you to—” But before he could even finish his sentence, Charlie burst into tears once more.

Silhouetted by the lit windows behind him, Arthur slowly crouched down until he was on one knee, with Charlie—who had tried to back up further, only to slip and fall on his back—trapped, frozen, beneath him. And there on the ground he lay, his expression awash with tears and fears, but unable to try and hide any part of himself away from Arthur. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then: “…Please, just… come back with me.” If their faces hadn’t been so close, if Arthur’s gaze didn’t keep flitting to Charlie’s lips, there would’ve been no way anyone could have understood what Charlie said. But Arthur heard him perfectly.

Arthur knew Charlie. Knew his body. He knew what touches would make Charlie smile or laugh, and where to touch for more. He also knew the places that would bring Charlie the most pain while still bringing himself the most satisfaction. But as he stared down at Charlie, Arthur knew, above all else, that a satisfying ending between them would be nothing more than fiction.

“I could beat you to a pulp right now, you know…” Arthur murmured as he balled a hand into a fist, clutching in it Charlie’s collar. “…But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Charlie tried half-heartedly to squirm away, but it only pushed him further into the dirt. “Freak.”

Charlie turned his head away and closed his eyes. After a while, his ragged breathing evened out in the silent air between them, despite the now-silent tears slowly running down his cheeks. Then, at last, he looked back up at Arthur, his expression that of hopeless surrender. And it was that look that made Arthur’s heart catch in his throat.

Arthur could beat him into a bloody pulp right then—and Charlie would just lie there and take it.

The tears had seemingly run out, but Charlie’s face was still damp, bits of dry grass and dishevelled hair stuck on his cheeks.

Arthur rose to his feet and took a step back, Charlie’s unsure gaze following him all the while. “Leave,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Get out of my yard. Get out of my life.”

After a moment of hesitation, Charlie struggled to his feet, his legs even shakier than they were before, and he slowly began to back away, moving towards the exit gate. But upon seeing Arthur’s stillness, he turned and quickened his pace as much as he could manage, and he’d nearly opened the gate when Arthur spoke again.

His voice was just barely loud enough to be heard across the yard. “And Charlie? If I see you around me, or my family, ever again…” Charlie looked back towards Arthur, who stared down coldly at him. “…I will kill you.”

Without missing a beat, Charlie ran, stumbling as he fled. Arthur watched his retreating figure until he was nothing more than another black speck in the night.